


Fire and Freedom

by caliowl



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Carla Harassment, Fluff and Humor, Implied Child Obnoxiousness, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 13:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13571208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliowl/pseuds/caliowl
Summary: Work sucks, even when it's not the typical 9-5 office grind. Sometimes even escape artists need to regain a sense of freedom.





	Fire and Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Circus AU prompt as part of the Stancest Discord Server's 2017 Scavenger Hunt. A BIG thank you to my amazing betas reinstotheworld and yehvaru, for being so incredibly kind to take time out of their busy schedules to help me improve my writing. You ladies are the best! <3

“Little _shit_!”

Carla sighed heavily, eyes rolled up to the ceiling as if seeking divine patience. “Stanley, _don’t_ _start_ -”

“‘ _He’s cheating! He’s behind a curtain!_ ANYONE _could have got him out! You think that’s_ _a good trick?’_ ” Her companion continued on with his tirade in a squeaky, off-key parody of what she assumed was _meant_ to be a child, if the child in question sounded like a leaky bike tire.

A leaky bike tire with a _serious_ chain smoking problem.

“Seriously, kid?” He continued arguing with his imaginary, tiny antagonist, weaving haphazardly through the throng of performers backstage preparing for their acts to start. Carla heaved a frustrated breath as she attempted to keep up, neatly dodging some acrobats and coming dangerously close to Ms. Petunia’s prized, trained poodle, Rex, earning her a vicious glare from the older woman. “ _Anyone_ could have gotten me outta _handcuffs_ and a _locked tank of water_ in the middle of a _giant, empty stage_?? The _entire point_ is that I escape on my own!”

“To be fair, the tank’s not _really_ sealed as tightly as it looks, though,” Carla couldn’t help but point out, trying to take the wind out of his sails before he made it clear across the Atlantic Ocean fueled on spite alone.

It seemed to work slightly, as far as distractions went, as Stanley’s steps did slow somewhat. “ _I_ know that, and _you_ know that, but that’s _not the point_.” He growled, punctuating the end of his sentence with a few vicious stabs in the air with a pointer finger. “My _job_ is to create an _illusion_ that inspires ‘wonder’ and ‘the inner child’, and that _real_ child is being a _real_ asshole!”

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” Carla replied dryly. “What child _wouldn’t_ experience a sense of wonder watching a happy-go-lucky guy like you answer their innocent question with a ‘Bite me, kid!’?”

Her companion narrowed his eyes in a mockingly fierce glare and put indignant hands on his hips as his body relaxed into a more playful posture. Bull-headed as Stan was, at least he could concede the point when he was being ridiculous. In his own, silent way, of course. “Yanno what? You can bite me too, Carla.”

“Been there, done that, sugar,” she replied, patting him lightly on the shoulder as he grinned. She wrinkled her nose for effect as she added, “never again.”

He burst into laughter, resting a hand over his heart. “You break my heart, McCorkle! Just like you did that night when you left me fer some clown!”

She immediately shoved him in frustration, forcing more laughter out of him. “NO! It wasn’t funny the _first_ fifty-thousand times you made that joke, and it isn’t funny _now_! Ugh, I can’t deal with you when you’re like this. Where’s your brother? Why isn’t he suffering you like the rest of us? FORD!” She yelled at a nearby camper, their original destination (Stanley’s destination was _always_ Stanford), and relished the violent tremor that ran through it as she had no doubt startled Ford out of a deep focus.

One chair scrape and several heavy, booted steps later and the door to the RV swung open, revealing Ford’s perplexed face and emitting a faint scent of chemicals. He quirked a brow in Carla’s direction. “You bellowed?”

She frowned as his word choice and crossed her arms defiantly, pointedly ignoring the sniggering coming from the manchild behind her. “You’re a fire tamer, right?”

His brows scrunched together in a mild frown as he thought the question over. “I _suppose_ you could call it that. But I prefer to say I work _with_ fire-”

“Deal with this,” she interrupted, grabbing a handful of Stan’s sleeve and dragging him over to his brother. “There was a rowdy kid and now _he’s_ all riled up, and if you don’t take him now I’ll throw a knife at him and I can’t guarantee I’ll miss.”

Stanford rolled his eyes as he stepped back to allow Stanley entry. “I’ll deal with it, but I can’t promise it’ll _stay_ dealt with,” he countered, leaping back as Stanley laid a comically exaggerated and _loud_ kiss to his cheek. “AGH! Stanley, what the hell?” he yelped, rubbing a hand up and down his cheek, face flushed and lips twisted into a grimace when his hand passed over saliva.

“Thanks, bro,” Stanley said as he made his way cheerfully into their shared space. “I feel _so_ loved!”

Ford turned back to Carla, his expression deadpan. “Run, while you still can.”

She laughed and punched him playfully on the shoulder. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“Oh, and Carla?” Stanley popped up over Ford’s shoulder, and that’s when Carla realized she had to leave _now_.

“Gotta go, Stan! Talk to you later, ok?” She called over her shoulder as she swiftly turned around and began making her escape.

“Oh! Ok. Could you just thank Thistle for me when you see ‘im?”

…Damn him and damn her curiosity straight to hell. She turned around with what she hoped was an effective warning look. “Thank him for _what_?”

Stan quickly held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa! Hey! No need fer that! I just genuinely wanted to thank him for helpin’ me put away all my props ‘n stuff yesterday.”

Carla could _feel_ her shoulders returning to their more relaxed positions. That was actually… “…Thanks, Stan. I’ll tell him you said that.”

He smiled. “No problem, Carla. I just wanted to make sure he knew I appreciated his kind _jester_.”

 There’s no way of knowing for sure, but it was generally accepted by everyone at the circus that day that the ensuing, aggrieved shriek could be heard the next city over.

\---------------

“We’re going to need hearing aids soon if you keep winding her up like that.”

Stanley grinned mischievously from his place against the wall as he watched his twin fiddle around with his latest fuel-concoction. “That _was_ a good one, wasn’t it? Even better than I hoped for!”

Ford shook his head in exasperation as he continued with his work. “I honestly don’t know _what_ you hope to achieve by bothering that poor girl. Didn’t she suffer enough as your girlfriend?”

Stan barked out a laugh and pushed off the wall, coming over to Ford to wrap a hand around one shoulder as he leaned over the other to observe his twin’s progress. “Yanno, I’d clock you a good one fer that remark if it wasn’t _dripping_ with jealousy.” He glanced to the side to look for Ford’s reaction and – there! A quick spasm of fingers around the beaker he was holding, a slight quiver of a pipette in a suddenly unsteady hand and a jaunty bounce of an Adam’s apple were all Stan’s to cherish; small pieces of evidence of his twin’s affection that he could collect like an emotional magpie, decorating his life with pieces of love and hoarding the warmth they brought him.

“Who’s jealous?” Ford asked, in the _most_ chalant-nonchalant sort of way. Stanley hoped he wasn’t sincerely trying to sound unaffected, because that would mean his brother was the worst liar in _history_ and bullshit was basically their trade, so…not a good combination. “I just meant that perhaps you should…ease up a little. No person should be screaming _that_ much, _that_ regularly.”

“No?” Stan asked casually, plucking the beaker and pipette out of Ford’s hands and setting them down safely out of harm’s way, as Ford avidly stared at the side of his head. “You couldn’t see _any_ advantages to screaming loudly on a regular basis?” He continued his line of questioning, pulling out the chair Ford is sitting in and sitting down in the newly created space of his twin’s lap. He looped his arms around Ford’s neck, grinning in triumph as he felt strong hands grip his hips, some stray fingers slipping under his shirt and coming to a stop to lightly caress the skin underneath. He licked his lips as he gazed into brilliant, warm brown eyes, so much more vibrant and arresting than his own. “No _fringe benefits_ , at all?”

He watched Ford’s eyes shift from side to side - searching for something, it looked like. The inner workings of Ford’s mind often eluded him. Whatever it was, he must’ve found it, because the firm, stiff line of his mouth softened and melted into a charmingly lazy grin and the feather-light caresses began to move downward with intent. “Well, Carla was certainly right about one thing. You _are_ riled up, aren’t you?”

Stan grinned devilishly, bringing one hand up to run through Ford’s curly locks, pausing every so often to deliver light, teasing scratches to his scalp. “You bet. She seemed to think that you should _deal with me_.” Here he grabbed a mass of hair, pulling Ford’s head back. Ford went willingly, offering his throat in its entirety to his brother. “What do you think about that?”

“I’m not sure,” Ford admitted, looking up at the ceiling. “I’ve never really done well trying to force fire to bend to my will, as I’m sure you remember.” Stan responded with a non-committal hum and a light caress to a pale, pink patch of skin on his brother’s throat. “As I mentioned earlier, my best work seems to come when I treat the fire with respect. Like a partner.” He flicked his eyes down in an attempt to meet Stan’s despite the awkward angle.

Stan considered him briefly, laid out and submissive beneath him, before throwing aside the façade and finally giving into temptation, bending forward to kiss, lick and suck at every inch of skin he could reach. His twin came alive immediately, hands coming up and grasping at Stan’s shoulders for purchase as he gasped and moaned his pleasure, completely losing himself in the moment.

It was times like these, here in this narrow world where he and Ford were the only things in existence, that Stanley felt like everything slotted into place. Where he could slowly, carefully free his brother from all the invisible trappings of the world outside and celebrate his freedom, celebrate _Ford_. It was always his most thrilling escape, and when he succeeded it brought him more pride and joy than hundreds of locked tank performances could ever touch.

Every soft gasp was like the rattle of a loosening chain, every moan the click of a lock springing open under his hands. Every desperate plea was like the awed gasps of an enthralled crowd and every call of his name the thunderous applause of a phantom audience. With Ford he reached new heights and it was with Ford that he achieved some of his greatest accomplishments.

When they were together, he received some of Ford’s magic too. Every light caress trailed fire along his nerve-endings, and every kiss seared into him like a brand. Ford’s intense gaze lit a fire in his gut and his fierce embrace was scalding enough to melt away the outside fears and anxieties that plagued him while leaving his heart and soul feeling blissfully warm.

Together they were two fires that burned brightly, twining and melting into one another to become an intimidating force of nature. Together, they broke locks and rent chains asunder, lifting each other to previously unattainable heights where they could soar in their freedom.

Together, the future was bright.

Together, they made the impossible possible.


End file.
